


After

by Medie



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Community: kissbingo, Kink Meme, M/M, Post-Apocalyptic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-14
Updated: 2011-06-14
Packaged: 2017-10-20 10:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/211879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damn Shaw and his ludicrous theories. Children of the Atom indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After

**Author's Note:**

> Written [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=kissbingo)[**kissbingo**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=kissbingo) for the prompt "body:top of head" as well as the [](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=xmen_firstkink)[**xmen_firstkink**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=xmen_firstkink) prompt: _Shaw's plan succeeded, the US and the USSR bombed the world into shards. Shaw establishes himself as some kind of cruel king of the world. Charles and Erik are leaders of the resistance._

Lips brush the top of his head—Erik saying hello. Futile effort, of course, his being a telepath and all, but Charles can appreciate the attempt if nothing else. Lifting his gaze from his work, he smiles. "Thanks, but quite unnecessary, really." He caps his pen and catches Erik's gaze in the reflection of the table. "You're not interrupting a thing."

"No luck then?" Erik doesn't move, just rests hands on Charles' shoulders and waits.

"This research would be difficult enough at home. Here—" Charles tosses the pen aside, pressing hands against his eyes. "It's impossible." It's not a word he's ever been all that fond of, but since the advent of Shaw's brave new world, he's developing a new appreciation. He sighs and tries to ignore the ominous twinge behind his left eye, the beginnings of another headache. Before long, his head will be pounding with it and his concentration nothing more than tattered ruins.

Behind him, he hears the sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle and holds up a hand to refuse Erik's offer. "The others need them more."

Erik huffs a breath, taking that hand and pressing the carefully rationed tablets into it. "The others will tell you that they aren't keeping constant vigil against Shaw's squads. Be a good boy, Charles, and take the pills." He leans in so that his lips brush Charles' cheek as he adds, "And maybe I'll give you a treat."

There's laughter in Erik's voice when he says it, but none of the sly suggestion that Charles has come to associate with that laugh.

Swallowing the pills, Charles tips his head back. "What have you done, Erik?"

Erik kisses his forehead as he thinks, _'I've found you a healer.'_

Charles forgets his headache in the rush of adrenaline, reaching into Erik's mind for the image of a doe-eyed girl laying hands to Angel's wing, repairing the damage from their last run-in with Shaw as if it had never been. A second later and the wing is moving freely in a way it hasn't since Cuba.

"Remarkable," he breathes, letting the image slip free, but not before he sees the girl slump into Angel's arms. "Untrained it would seem. We'll need to work on that."

Erik nods and starts rubbing Charles' shoulders, working out the tension. "She won't be much help otherwise. I'm sure you're already planning out a training regimen for her. She'll be regrowing limbs and raising the dead before you know it."

Charles would agree, at least with the former part of that statement, but he's gone boneless beneath Erik's touch. It's dirty pool, not that he minds all that much. He's content to let Erik think he's won, that he hasn't realized that the determination to find this girl is desperation in disguise, at least for now. There's some logic, of course, in the necessity of finding a way out of the chair, but not at the expense of another's life. It's not worth that. He's adapted fine enough, thank you, and with that thought, he slumps into his chair, relaxing into Erik's hands. "This would be so much easier with Cerebro."

"Maybe," Erik says, "Maybe not. Personally, I don't think you need it. You're getting stronger, Charles. I can feel you with me out there. Every step."

"Practice makes perfect," Charles jokes, groaning when Erik strikes a knot. "I can't afford anything but."

"Flowery speeches about your perfection aside, we do need more telepaths," Erik says, digging into that spot until Charles thinks he might die with the pleasure of it. "You can't keep this up forever."

"We'll find them," Charles says, right back to wishing for Cerebro. Things had been so much easier when the world had lit up with mutant minds, thousands of them laid out before him like tiny lights in the fog of everyday mental chatter. Just a _moment_ is all he needs. The scantest of instances to pick out a handful of minds—it seems, some days, that's all that's left anyway. Damn Shaw and his ludicrous theories. Children of the Atom indeed. "It's just going to take time."

"Well, that's fine," Erik says, amused. "It isn't as if we have anything pressing at hand."

Charles smiles, enjoying the moment of lightness. There have been so few in recent days and even less in the days ahead, he'll take whatever moments he can, as will they all. Reaching up, he draws Erik down to him. "Nothing much," he says, as Erik kisses his forehead, "Only saving the world for mutants and mankind alike."

 _'What's left of them anyway'_

With a sigh, Charles closes his eyes and reaches for Erik.


End file.
